


Wait For It (wait for it)

by lorata



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Behind the Scenes, Book 8: Blood of Tyrants, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Missing Scene, Period-Typical Homophobia, Temporary Amnesia, Yuletide 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorata/pseuds/lorata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Little and Granby met again years later, and they’d fallen back together with an easy familiarity except for when it wasn’t. An old, well-loved pair of boots that sometimes pinched the toes, or walking down the stairs in one’s childhood home at night only to fall against a table that had not been there before.</i>
</p>
<p>Maintaining a clandestine relationship with Granby is hard enough for Little without the war, a plague, multiple trips around the world and gossipy dragons in the mix, never mind Granby's ambiguously close friendship with William Laurence. Little does his best not to be jealous or uncertain as the years and continents separate him from his lover, but when Laurence returns from a shipwreck with his memories missing and old prejudices intact, Little finds he has something new to worry about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait For It (wait for it)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vix_spes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/gifts).



> I always think about how hard it must be for Granby and Little to keep their relationship going when they're only together in snatches for years at a time, and especially when Granby and Laurence develop such a particular closeness. Little's defining interactions with Laurence (from Will's point of view) are basically awkwardness personified, so I had fun playing around with how that might affect Granby and Little and their commitment to each other.
> 
> Thank you to linguafranka and xanify for the beta, and happy Yuletide to you, vix_spes!

How any man might want to join the Navy Little had no idea, save that he be born into it and raised with parents who stuffed ideas of glory into his head. Sailing was the worst part of being an aviator, all that time lobbing up and down, staring out at the flat expanse of sea while everything inside rolled and twisted, never mind so much time spent being wet, besides. The Navy also had its own rules about conduct that the Aerial Corps saw prudent to ignore, which did not endear Little any more to the service.

The worst part about sailing, truly, had to be the powerlessness to do anything but wait upon nature like the most jealous of mistresses. Little had seen the sea becalmed, waited for two sickening weeks while the stores dwindled and the dragons foraged as best they could from what marine animals came near. Too, he had lived through countless storms where the sea and sky raged and tried their best to end it all.

He and Immortalis had flown through a lightning storm once, with the air scented sharp and dangerous, so charged it raised his hair. Little did not go out of this way to court danger like some — he still had all his limbs after some twenty years in the service, unlike Granby — but he had relished that storm, in a way. Flying with his dragon, the rain pelting like bullets and soaking his clothing and hair against him like a second, sodden skin, hearing the powerful rush of Immortalis’ wingbeats and feeling the muscles shift beneath him — that had been power, and almost heady abandon. When the lightning cracked and illuminated the scales of a Fleur-de-Nuit swooping in from the clouds, Little had laughed, loud and wild like a madman, and urged Immortalis in for the kill while the enemy beast still reeled from the flash.

This, standing on a ship while the waves flooded the deck and the hull creaked beneath them, hands slipping and palms raw and bleeding as he fought to man the ropes and bring down the sails, every moment cognizant of the weight of each dragon and the fragility of the construction keeping them above the waves — each life aboard fighting with every breath against elements that did not care a whit about their survival.

In the air Little believed in God, when he and Immortalis soared and the golden sunlight limned the clouds and the birds cut sunbeams with their wings, casting long, dark shadows as they swooped and dove. In a storm on the water, the dragons lashed to the heaving deck, each man half-drowned and shouting himself hoarse to be heard above the gale, Harcourt striding about in gumboots and barking orders as though she did not have a young son back at the covert who had already lost his father to the sea — here Little felt not the love but the wrath of God, terrible and unappeased.

Little did not even notice William Laurence going over until after the storm ended and the ship settled, uneasy and creaking, held aloft from the shoals only by the dragons who took turns keeping her there. Laurence had been cutting loose the storm chains when the ship began to tilt; Little, for his part, had been stationed on the far side of the ship, trying to jimmy her free from an outcropping of rock that threatened to rip a whole swath of the side free once the craft moved.

By the time the clouds broke and the imminent danger passed, Little hardly had breath or recollection enough to breathe. Immortalis hunched on the dragon-deck near Iskierka, and he lifted his head to ensure Little’s safety before dropping back down, exhausted. Temeraire hovered, holding up the battered end of the ship, the other dragons huddled together but appeared unharmed, and the men began climbing the masts and assessing the damage.

Little stumbled back and nearly ran into Granby. The man looked as half-drowned as Little felt, but on top of it his face carried an odd, waxen quality that meant he’d paled underneath the sunburn that darkened his cheeks. “What is it?” Little asked, giving him a once-over. For Granby he looked remarkably in tact, no more missing hands or scalp wounds or gunshots, no blood soaking through his shirt. His dragon, moreover, had slept through the entire storm insensible to the danger that nearly overtook all of them.

Granby ran a hand down his face, throat working. All around them the crew bustled and worked in that organized chaotic way of sailors, and Little risked a hand on Granby’s arm. The fabric of his jacket leaked a rivulet of water under the pressure. Granby shook his head, and across the ship young Roland edged over to Temeraire, her face solemn and apprehensive.

At once Little put the pieces together, his addled brain finally marking the presence of every captain in the formation — save one. Granby sucked in a hard breath and dropped his hand, and the anguish twisting his face warred with exhaustion and a haunting resignation as he said, “Laurence went over.”

Across the ship Temeraire cried, “ _No!_ ” in a voice that drove a blade between Little’s ribs as Roland held up both hands, and Granby collapsed onto an overturned barrel.

 

* * *

 

“God _damn_ the man!” Granby exploded, slamming his way into Little’s cabin. “God damn him to hell and back, is it so difficult for him to make it through a single encounter without attempting another idiotic, heroic self-sacrifice? I have half a mind to let Temeraire go after him, just to see the apoplexy at having his dragon haring off across a hostile nation and setting things all ahoo!”

Little, his own dragon safe and sleeping after the storm, had not made himself a part of the discussion over what to do about possible rescue attempts, but he had heard them. Both Temeraire and Iskierka’s voices carried well from above, and he Little had caught the exasperated-pleading tone as Granby argued with them both. Not for the first time Little found himself grateful for his dragon’s sanguine temper and experience — then again, Little had never been presumed lost. Perhaps even Immortalis would find himself driven to disruption if he thought he could save his captain and everyone else cautioned restraint.

Pushing that unpleasant thought aside, Little gestured for Granby to sit, unsurprised when he chose to pace instead. Granby carried nervous energy with him, as though he were a man twice his size but forced into his own shape, and seldom could be persuaded to be calm. It made for fantastic lovemaking, as Little had known for over a decade now, but he also half feared Granby would wind himself up and end up exploding one day from the sheer force of his emotions.

“You don’t think him lost, then,” Little said carefully. On the one hand it seemed simple enough; a man disappearing over the side of a ship and not rescued immediately could hardly expect to survive hours later. Then again, the _Potentate_ sat grounded against the rocks, not moving along with the frenetic force of storm winds behind her, and the shore lay close. A Navy man like Laurence could well expect to make the shore, if swept too far to swim back to the ship and too canny to risk being dashed against the rocks, and they had seen him recovered after far more grievous circumstances.

“He’d better not be,” Granby said darkly. “I owe him a sound thrashing, and it won’t be half so satisfying if he’s not alive to feel it. Anyone could have cut those storm chains! The crew were halfway there already, before he got it into his head to play Captain Saves-The-Day. And now we’re here, stuck, arguing about the best diplomatic way to go about a retrieval mission in a country that would much rather we all catch fire right here, with Hammond no doubt suggestion a full diplomatic envoy with kowtowing and ceremonial speeches and Temeraire keen to fly off just as you please and set us at war with Japan in the process —“

At last Granby flung himself down onto the berth, one arm thrown across his eyes, and Little did not try to soothe him. Granby masked the worst of his fears with the strongest fits of temper, ever since they were little more than boys. Instead Little sat beside him, lowering himself down with a care he felt but wished he could ignore, and rested a hand on Granby’s shoulder.

“They’ll find him,” Little said. He nudged Granby over and dug his fingers into the taut muscles of his neck and shoulder; the other man grimaced but did not protest as Little worked some of the tension from his back. “If the French, Chinese, Turkish, Africans, Australians and the Inca could not kill him, I highly doubt a little water and the Japanese will.”

Granby barked out a laugh, then rolled over and caught Little by the front of his shirt, one arm trapped awkwardly between them. “Distract me?” he said against Little’s mouth, eyes dark and desperate as his words played casual.

“Of course,” Little said, and kissed him soundly.

 

* * *

 

Things had changed since their younger days, much as Little wished they hadn’t. Back then they’d been young men, somewhat careless if not carefree with the threat of war growing across the Channel. They’d found each other and made something together, bound not by words and promises and perfumed letters but a shared hunger, and the knowledge that what they had could destroy the both of them every time they touched.

Now — now years had passed, and both had seen more of the world than Little had scarce imagined as a child. The last eight years had seen them apart more than they’d been together; weeks together on some distant continent, snatching a few nights of privacy before heading out after some new calamity, with months or even years of separation in between.

Granby had changed from the brash, hot-headed young man whom Little had once watched across the training grounds. He still had his temper, and he still flushed red at the slightest provocation and had to swallow the worst of his upbringing’s vocabulary, but having a dragon like Iskierka had tempered him, forced him to look for reason when before he would already have raised his fists. That, at least, Little found charming; with all their boyhood memories of Granby getting into every scrape and scrap afforded him, hearing him plead restraint with his dragon rarely failed to make Little smile.

His association with William Laurence less so. Little had been privately amused and a touch concerned when young Granby, newly crewed on Temeraire, clashed with the Aerial Corps’ new, most officious captain. Little had breathed a sigh of relief when battle proved Laurence’s worth and Granby lost some of his righteous anger, and even approved as the pair formed an odd friendship. But then Granby had gone to China — they had promised each other nothing, they were lovers without strings and dowries and yellow ribbons tied round tree branches, after all — and despite their attempts to be mature and sensible, he’d taken a piece of Little with him. Granby had kissed him, hard and desperate, fingers digging into Little’s chin, and so Little chose to believe Granby left himself behind as well.

But time, and war, and harrowing experiences shared between companions would draw any two men close regardless of what attachments lay elsewhere. Little and Granby met again years later, and they’d fallen back together with an easy familiarity except for when it wasn’t. An old, well-loved pair of boots that sometimes pinched the toes, or walking down the stairs in one’s childhood home at night only to fall against a table that had not been there before.

Granby had been older, and harder, and he had a dragon of his own. He and Laurence spoke without words now, exchanging glances and gestures that marked them as brothers in arms in a way they had not been before the voyage to China. For his part Little had seen Immortalis choking on his own sputum in the quarantine grounds, had tasted death with every breath he took and felt it pressing on him, and he could never quite forgive Granby for escaping that awful, crushing fear.

Little learned to swallow the shiver of dissatisfaction at Granby’s tales of Laurence, how his lover might not say the other man’s name in bed but it slipped his tongue at every other opportunity. Hated it more still because there was nothing about Laurence to hate; he loved his dragon, and his crew, and his country, and he fought for all with a ferocity that put any of his detractors to shame.

When Laurence turned traitor and took the cure to France, Little stood with Granby, Roland, Chenery and the others and refused to speak one black word against him while the Admiralty railed and raged and spat their threats. William Laurence had proven himself more honourable than the entire Corps and the House of Lords combined, treason be damned, and Little used his shame at the lingering flickers of jealous over Granby’s affection to defend the man all the more.

Little and Granby found each other again after Laurence’s temporary pardon, tracing old hands across new scars and learning the stories behind them. Little flew with them across the continent, witnessed Laurence’s descent into grim, unsmiling and self-punishing madness as he followed their cruel orders to the letter; saw Granby nearly tear himself in two to stop it, before a single conversation with their taciturn wandering companion brought Laurence back from the brink.

That night Granby came to Little in his tent right there on the field, insensible to anyone who might notice. He still smelled faintly of alcohol, as he had medicated his horror and loathing at their mission — at his friend’s self-destructive actions and callous treatment — with bottle after bottle, but that night his eyes shone clear and his breath was free of wine. He kissed Little with a desperation they had not felt in years, tugging aside his neckcloth and working the lacings of his breeches with long practice. Little muffled his own sounds with his teeth set against Granby’s shoulder, and together they dismantled the wall between them brick by brick and year by year.

After that nothing else mattered. Laurence went to Australia and Granby followed while Little remained behind to fight Napoleon and his ever-increasing army, but before his secret departure Granby kissed Little breathless and left a trail of bruises along his hips, his chest, his throat below the cover of his uniform. They left no tokens and exchanged no rings or twists of hair folded up in lockets, but this time when Granby mounted Iskierka in the dead of night and flew away, Little felt no anger, no sinking dread.

Granby might chase after Laurence but he returned to Little, and any aviator with first loyalty to his dragon knew that to be enough.

 

* * *

 

As it happened, they did find Laurence — in a sense.

Little had not joined the other men on deck to welcome Laurence when he returned with Temeraire; they worked together well enough, and had each other’s backs in a fight as well as as anyone, but they hardly sought each other’s company in private. Not out of dislike or enmity, even with Little and Granby’s situation adding complications, but simply because Laurence and Little were both less gregarious than their fellows.

As unfounded as the fear might be, Little also did not wish to dampen any reunion between Granby and his closest friend with any awkwardness, and so he remained below. He sat at his desk with his paper and drawing pencil, making a sketch of a Chinese dagger he had borrowed from Granby.

Much later Granby pushed open Little’s door and sagged against the frame. “My God,” Granby said, his voice hoarse and expression haggard. Little leapt to his feet but Granby waved him back, pressing his fingertips against his eyelids. “He’s lost his memory, Augustine. He must have dashed his head on a rock on his way to shore. There’s nothing since the year four.”

Four. Little counted backwards — sometimes it felt as though decades had passed in the handful of years since Temeraire arrived and shook up the Corps — and arrived at the same conclusion that drained the colour from Granby’s cheeks. “Before he joined the Corps,” Little said.

“He thought he was still a captain in the Navy,” Granby said. “He asked about Riley — god damn it all, his face when I had to tell him. Hammond won’t let us give him anything, he’s sitting there tutting about procedures and who knows what all, meanwhile Temeraire is near frantic, convinced the Japanese must have done it to him —“

Little crossed the room and took Granby by the shoulders, leading him over to the bunk. Granby followed mechanically, hardly noticing when Little sat him down and pressed a tin cup into his hand. “Is there hope of restoring him?” Little asked. Sympathetic fear washed over him in a series of chills; he could imagine few fates worse than to lose every sense of who he is. Eight years, gone; one-fourth of the man’s life, erased from a careless blow to the head.

Little restrained a shudder, then sat and rested a hand on the back of Granby’s neck. “And he recalled nothing, even when you spoke with him?”

“Not a thing.” Granby lifted the cup to his lips and set it down without drinking. “He looked — my God, it was even worse than when he first arrived. Back then he might have been an officious prig, but he at least had Temeraire, and loved him even then. Now —“

Now they had a Laurence with a Navy man’s disdain for the Corps, thrust into a life that no longer was his own, with expectations and responsibilities far greater than any officer would ever shoulder. Captain to a difficult beast, adopted son to a Chinese Emperor, and dear friends with a man whose sexual predilections —

Little froze, the unwelcome thought worming into his mind even as he fought it back. An unworthy concern when Laurence’s entire life lay in tatters, when his and Granby’s friendship had been erased from his mind and might never return, and yet. And yet this pertained to Granby as well, to his safety and, indeed, his very life.

Swallowing hard, Little reached over and took the cup of grog from Granby’s hand and drained it. Granby turned to glance at him, brow furrowed, and Little took a moment to steady himself. “Do you think he’ll remember about you? About us?”

Granby dropped his hands between his knees, expression falling slack. “Good God.”

 

* * *

 

After arriving in Brazil to find that Granby had lost his arm and nearly become the unwilling husband to an Incan queen, Little felt as though he had dealt with the situation rather well. He had reacted to the silver hook at the stump of Granby’s arm with as little reaction as he possibly could, knowing his friend would be sensitive toward any hints of sympathy or pity, and only remarked that it seemed a much more efficient means of climbing the dragon’s rigging than clumsy human fingers. He even listened to Granby’s dramatized tale of his near brush with assumed royalty without laughing, though as Granby’s voice rose and his gestures grew more expansive Little had to bite his tongue.

All had gone well — the battle, the flashes and fire and gunshot, the heady glee that came from diving into danger and surviving — until the celebration after. Little had joined the others in the spirit of victory rather than withdrawing to spend time with Immortalis and his books and pens, and they all sat around and passed cups of heavy wine between them and toasted their successes.

More than one raised a glass to Granby and his successfully-defended single status, while he flushed red and muttered threats against them. Years of practice in discretion meant Little did not twitch or make eye contact as the others twitted Granby about his narrowly escaping a life as an exhausted brood mare, and after a while Granby’s irritation passed the level for acceptably good-natured teasing and the others backed off.

“At least it was you, John,” Chenery said, grinning wide and sharp-toothed like a jungle tiger. “If it had been Laurence, no doubt he would have married her just because it would be impolite to say no.”

“I dare say he might have tried,” Granby said, and he caught Little’s eye with a small smile. “Then Temeraire would have found out and pitched the whole city over into the sea, somehow, and we’d be picking up a much bigger mess.” He picked up a twig and lobbed it at Chenery’s head. “And you would have done it too, I’m sure, if for entirely different reasons.”

“I can think of a worse life than to be used for my sexual prowess by a beautiful leader,” Chenery lied easily. He would no more accept a life than any of them, away from his country and his formation and all the duty that lay there.

Little retired once the drinks grew deep and the songs more raucous, and Granby followed soon after that. On their way through the camp back to Little’s tent they passed by William Laurence, and he gave them both an awkward nod. This marked the second time Laurence had skittered away from contact with Little, and a low suspicion began to crawl its way up from his gut.

Once in the tent, Little fished in his pack for a deck of cards. “Laurence seems to be acting oddly,” Little said. He began picking out all the cards from the 2s through to the 6s for a game of piquet, and also to give himself something else to focus on. “It’s as though he wants to avoid me and is making up for the unworthy thought by being overly solicitous.”

He waited for Granby’s response, laying the extra cards aside and arranging them now and then, tapping the sides and corners so they made a neat pile. For a moment Little thought that perhaps he would deny everything, or laugh at Little and kiss him for jumping at shadows, but finally Granby exhaled. He picked up a discarded 3 of Clubs and twirled it in his fingers.

“I had to tell him,” Granby said, not looking up, and Little stilled. His heart hammered in his chest; he had flown with Laurence for years, yes, but they had hardly made themselves confidants. He would not be shocked to hear it had taken Laurence years to learn his first name, as often happened with the men who erred more on the formal side. “He didn’t understand why I couldn’t just do my duty, whether it would really be so terrible, trying to make me feel better or some rot. I nearly took up a rock and hit him over the head with it. I couldn’t make him understand the revulsion I felt, and the more I tried — I realized I wanted the secret gone. I was tired of hiding it, and I thought to myself, either he’s my friend or he isn’t.”

Granby dropped the card and started to push both hands into his hair, then stopped just short of skewering himself with the hook. He laughed a little, hoarse and half-hysterical, and Little’s fear thawed. Granby did not wear the face of a man whose closest friend had taken the deepest, darkest part of him and flung it back in disgust. “And?” Little asked. He did not reach out to touch Granby, not with Laurence’s presence so thick in the air, but neither did he take up the pretence of preparing the deck.

“He flustered, apologized, and nattered on about how it might not affect my ability to do my duty as a brood sire,” Granby said with an elaborate roll of his eyes. “It’s funny, I half expected him to react badly, but all he did was drive me half-mad with all his idiocy about the marriage. It was almost a relief. It’s one thing to think a man won’t turn you in for it, but it’s another to know.”

Little recalled a similar conversation years ago, with Chenery. They had begun flying together in the same formation, and after more than a few nights out on the town in Dover where Chenery attempted to find Little accompaniment for the evening with increasing vehemence, Little had finally snapped. He did not object to the idea in principle, he’d said, chasing the burst of courage that followed a hasty swallow of ale, but Chenery had cast his net into the wrong pond, as it were. After a moment of drunkenly exaggerated confusion, Chenery had burst out laughing, flung an arm around Little’s shoulder, and declared himself worthy of the challenge.

(And so he had been, in more ways than one. It turned out that Little’s friend rarely shied from new experiences, and while they did not repeat the encounter — filled with much more laughter, mis-aimed kisses and fumbling hands than Little’s usual — neither of them regretted it. Rather more Little regretted Chenery’s self-appointed position as inquisitor to Little’s love life, but he suspected that would have happened regardless.)

Granby had picked up the playing card again, twisting it this way and that in his fingers until the centre creased and the edges frayed. Little reached over and took it away from him, letting their fingers brush, and shook his head at Granby when he jumped. “I didn’t mention you,” Granby said in a rush, but his face burned scarlet and Little waited for the other shoe to fall. “I wouldn’t betray your confidence, only that damned dragon of mine up and said it in front of him. I didn’t even know she’d figured it out, but apparently she thinks about more than prizes and jewels after all.”

Little let out a breath. He had, of course, come clean to Immortalis long before ever taking up with Granby — before becoming captain, even, when he made first lieutenant — but neither of them had ever breathed a word to Iskierka. Granby’s dragon treated the concept of discretion as something to be disdained. “I suppose if she hasn’t burnt me to a crisp in my tent then she must not mind,” Little said, attempting to find the bright spot.

“I should think not,” Granby said. His eye twitched, and he dragged a hand down his face. “She said she prefers it, as there’s no danger of wives taking my attention, and another aviator would understand that a dragon comes first.” He laughed a little then, a quiet huff of sound. “The good thing is I was so mortified that Laurence took it in stride, likely out of loyalty to me and protection of my poor battered pride.”

Given everything that occurred in his absence, Little decided to consider himself lucky that Laurence’s disquiet had been as restrained as it was. “Your pride has taken a beating these past few years,” Little said. He had been blessedly absent for most of these endeavours, but he’d traced the scars with his fingers and knew them all by heart. “Shot, stabbed, thrown from a dragon, taken prisoner —“

“I have not been stabbed, surely,” Granby interrupted, then took a good minute running over his mental butcher’s bill while Little hid a smile. Eventually Granby caught Little’s expression and waved him off with a rude gesture. “Yes, yes, enjoy yourself,” he said. “Just because Immortalis doesn’t take you haring off after prizes and God only knows what.”

Little clapped him on the shoulder consolingly, then turned the rough gesture into something nearer a caress, his thumb brushing the taut line of muscle at the side of Granby’s neck. “If you think Laurence will leave it alone then I trust your judgement,” he said. “You know him better than I.”

“I do, and I thank you. And I’ll have another talk with Iskierka about discretion,” Granby said, wearing an expression that suggested he would rather strip naked and take a long, luxurious swim in the piranha-infested Amazon. “She did say Immortalis told her to keep quiet, and she’s been more eager to please since I lost my temper with her over this breeding business.”

Outside the sound of revelry continued, and Little exhaled a low breath of relief in spite of himself. If nothing else, William Laurence prided himself as a man of honour, and after all the upheaval his dragon had dragged him through over the past few years, this would hardly be the most shocking revelation of the man’s career. Little could overlook a bit of awkwardness in exchange for the man’s silence.

“Well, now that I’ve got you here, you may as well stay,” he said. He waved a hand at the cards, forgotten and half-scattered between them. “We could play, or —“

Granby closed the distance between them and kissed him, and Little marked the odd sensation of cold metal against his side before brushing it aside and kissing back. The next morning they arrived to breakfast at a reasonable hour compared to the others nursing hangovers, Granby a few minutes behind Little to maintain the illusion of propriety. Chenery winked at Little over a bowl of mash, and Laurence hesitated for a split second before offering to pour them both a cup of coffee.

 

* * *

 

Now, with Laurence returned to duty, Little lived with the daily grip of fear for the first time in over a decade. Laurence, as far as the doctors determined, suffered from a brain-fever so potent and complete that it was doubtful he would ever recover his memories. In the meantime he managed to balk at the female aviators, show alarm at the aviators’ loose way of living and espouse such views that showed not only his memories but any lenience of character he’d experienced had disappeared entirely.

The old William Laurence had blushed at Granby’s confession but taken it with remarkably good grace; this new Laurence — or older, rather, while also in some ways younger, Little’s head spun trying to contemplate it — would not. The less Little imagined that disastrous outcome the better, and he took to avoiding Laurence as much as possible where it would not be uncommonly rude to do so.

The _Potentate_ made sail for China soon after, and Little almost welcomed the flurry of assassination attempts and various terrifying developments that followed their arrival, if only for the distraction. Granby had taken to withdrawing of late after several conversations with Laurence proved that his presence would not bring any memories forthcoming, and Laurence’s polite but distant treatment of him clearly stung. While Little would normally have sought him out for comfort, the danger of Laurence noticing their closeness and lingering too long upon it kept him from Granby’s side.

China was at once a beautiful and damned strange country; even without the attacks and double-crosses — far more personal and pointed than Little was used to, given the impersonal nature of the continental war — Little found himself in awe. Whenever not dodging swords or explosives or verbal barbs or anything else hurled at them at an alarmingly regular basis, Little snatched away time to draw. He copied the ornate architecture, dragons carved into every surface; caught the essence of a flock of Imperial message dragons and their silk harnesses as they flew overhead, silhouetted against the sharp blue sky and pale wisps of cloud.

He did not, as he once did in the safety of the Dover covert, take to sketching Granby, at least on purpose. Once or twice as Little laid a pencil to the page without care or attention to the output, he returned to himself to see the sharp lines of Granby’s profile, eyes laughing even in the hasty outline. Little tore up the pages and burned them, sensible of the waste of resources but unwilling to take the risk, and found himself skittish for the rest of the day.

At last, however, Laurence called on Little to help him locate Temeraire, who had taken flight after an argument and failed to return. Even without the memories of their long history together Laurence appeared shaken by the encounter, and Little took that as a good sign. The routine search turned into a fierce battle and a rash of increasingly unpleasant discoveries, until Little and Laurence returned with the missing dragons and crew, an injured and starving feral, a battered and exhausted Tharkay — and a large host of Laurence’s memories.

The matter of the grim news of Napoleon’s plans took precedence over everything else, Little’s fears included, and Little himself required a day of rest after the close-quarters fight in the mountains. He spent a little longer in his camp-bed than he technically required, but after Laurence’s man Tharkay delivered a full report of his intelligence in the aftermath of weeks of torture Little’s pride got the best of him. He roused himself and went about making himself useful, and if he avoided Laurence’s tent there were enough people crowded round that it hardly mattered.

He didn’t avoid Granby, exactly, only that Little’s duties did not bring them close, and so it was not until later when Granby approached him that they had the chance to speak. “He saw Tharkay and things came back to him just like that,” Granby said. An odd expression worked its way across his face, darkening his eyes and thinning his mouth before he caught himself. “I’m not — I’m glad it’s happened, make no mistake, but it’s a bit of a blow, that’s all. To Temeraire too, I expect.”

It would be indeed, for Laurence’s own dragon to make no impression on his recollection, and Little hoped for both their sakes that the notoriously jealous beast would see himself more grateful for the return than concerned with the how. Still, for all their years of friendship to have no effect on Laurence’s recollection, Little could only imagine the mixed emotions Granby had to sift through.

While Little made no pretensions of existing as a selfless human being, he nevertheless did make attempts to avoid indulging too fully in entirely self-serving actions as much as possible. As such, Little swallowed the first question that came to mind even as it filled his thoughts and pushed all else away. Instead he poured Granby a drink from his personal store, and busied himself with picking up his scattered belongings and setting them somewhat to order. Granby said nothing for a long while, looking down at the cheap alcohol in his hand and swilling it around the inside of the container.

“It’s hard to say what he remembers,” Granby said at last, not glancing up. “We didn’t have time to talk about it much, but from what I can tell he’s back to the Laurence we knew before this whole mess started, and dashed embarrassed about some of the things he said.” He ran the back of his arm across his forehead, then finished off his drink in one swallow. “He called me ‘John’ again, and damn near crushed my spine, not that I’m complaining. If I had to hear one more ‘Captain Granby’ either he would have to be transferred out of the formation, or I would. As for us —“ He spread his hands. “I don’t know, and I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Napoleon marches with a hundred dragons a million men,” Little said. He’d avoided saying it aloud until then, intimidated by the weight of such a horrible notion even as he packed his things and saw to the provisions for their ship, and now it hit him hard. He felt like Immortalis on the battlefield, startling when a dragon dropped on him from above. “I think we can put aside our own personal crisis until we have matters somewhat more in hand.”

Granby laughed, a sound with more effort in it than genuine humour, but at least he tried. “I’m off to see Harcourt. Hammond is no doubt cooking up some diplomatic nonsense that we must find a way to throw over, if you’d like to come with me. You’re better at talking sweet than I am.”

That might be a true statement, but only because it was a much difficult task to be worse at it. Little coughed and did not say the thought aloud, though Granby’s raised eyebrow suggested he caught the gist. “Yes, let’s,” Little said. “I dare say Hammond will want us here, but I’ll be damned if I stay and let Europe face that onslaught alone.” Even if the presence of a single formation was unlikely to turn the tide of the battle, Little could not imagine sitting idle in the Imperial precincts much longer while war spoiled abroad. He had felt the maddening itch that had consumed Granby during all his time away from the front, and understood it well.

Granby flashed him a predatory smile, and he punched Little in the arm. “There’s my man,” he said. “Let’s see if we can give Hammond a case of apoplexy. He’s gotten too complacent around Churki for my liking.”

 

* * *

 

On the final day before their departure, Little sat with Immortalis and the other dragons in the courtyard as they enjoyed one final soak under the hot-water jets that no dragon would see again for a very long time. Little watched his dragon roll about on the stones, shaking his head under the water and showering everyone around him with droplets as though he were a dragon one-third his age, as though he hadn’t been brought to the brink of a horrible, choking death only a few years previously.

Little smiled to himself as Immortalis wrestled with the other dragons for the prime spot under the waterspout; Nitidus growled and scrambled backward with an awkward flap of his wings, then took Dulcia’s place at the pump and dropped his whole weight upon it until the courtyard flooded. The water threatened to engulf Little’s legs and soak his breeches, and he had just leapt to safety when Granby and Laurence emerged and gave the entire spectacle twin bemused looks.

Granby and Laurence followed him up onto the benches as Little reached down to help them; for a moment he hesitated before offering Laurence his arm — what if the man refused it, as suspicious and unworthy the thought may be — but then Laurence gripped Little’s forearm with strong fingers and allowed himself to be pulled up.

They stood there the three of them in awkward silence, and Little could not help the curl of despair in his chest. Here they would be soon departing for Portugal; for the first time in years the formation would be together again against Napoleon’s forces, united and determined, and here they could not carry out a normal conversation between them. Little did not wish to be a wedge between the two friends, nor to live the rest of his days on the edge of a wobbling sabre, but what else could he do?

He trusted Laurence to have his back on the battlefield, and likewise Little would leap into the fray to save either of the two from a musket or a sabre or a dragon’s jaws. But the instinctive, wordless trust that came with bloodlust and war did not translate to the drawing-room. Saving a man’s life in battle did not protect from disgrace or condemnation, and while Little thought — hoped, anyway, based on Granby’s protestations — that a Laurence with his memories returned would turn his back on indiscretion that did not endanger or involve him, he would never be sure.

As Little had suspected, Laurence did not linger long. He watched the courtyard for some time, expression faraway and unseeing, but soon enough he shook himself and made his excuses. “I had better take my leave of you now, gentlemen; you will have a difficult time enough getting away, I think.”

He said it casually, in the way of a man who has never been casual in his life and has not picked up the faculties in the last few seconds, and Little nearly stumbled. Did he — get away for what purpose, and what did Laurence mean _gentlemen_ , plural, did that imply — Surely he did not mean —

Little hardly dared to glance at Granby, who had stiffened at his side, before Laurence extended his hand. “My most sincere regards, and good fortune, to you both,” he said, pressing Little’s hand warmly, before moving on to Granby and embracing him. The rest of their conversation disappeared in a rush as air filled Little’s ears; he had to check to make sure he wasn’t still standing with his hand in front of him like a simpleton, but luckily he appeared to have dropped it automatically.

Laurence soon took his leave, hopping from bench to bench to avoid dousing himself, and still Little had not recovered his wits nor his composure. Granby stared after Laurence until he disappeared, then turned back to Little with a rakish grin exaggerated just slightly to cover the embarrassment that caused the tips of his ears to redden.

“Well,” Granby said with remarkable lightness, “it’s not every day one gets William Laurence’s blessing.”

“My God,” Little said, somewhat faintly.

Granby laughed and knocked their shoulders together, no more than he would any man in the Corps where affection and propriety existed as inverses of each other, but Little felt the point of contact as a jolt through him anyhow. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a more Will-worthy statement in my life. ‘My most sincere regards and good fortune to you both’! For him that’s practically a wedding present. I ought to stitch it on a pillow and save it with my most precious belongings.”

“You will not,” Little said flatly, even as the back of his mind tripped over Granby’s use of ‘wedding’, joke or no. “Or I will push you into the water and laugh as you flounder and drown one-handed.”

This time Granby laughed again, sharp and delighted, and he reached back to tweak Little’s queue as though they were a pair of schoolchildren teasing each other on the pitch. “Well done! I’ve not heard you speak like that in a long time. I’ve had a good and terrible influence on you, Augustine.”

Little shook his head. “Laurence did have one thing right; it will be the devil to get away after this.” He exchanged a quick glance, and their eyes only met for a moment but the heat in Granby’s gaze shot straight through him. “We ought take advantage of our dragons’ hedonism and steal away for a bit. Once we’re on the ship there will be scarce little time.”

“And then the war,” Granby said. He smiled savagely, and Little recalled the thrill of battle, the scent of blood and gunpowder and the sound of screams, the knowledge that death lay around every passing second but so, too, did victory and life. Soon they would be at war again together, beating back Napoleon with their dragons side by side, but for now they had a few hours of peace to themselves, where nothing else mattered. “My quarters are closer,” Granby said. “Shall we?”

Little smiled back, and Granby gripped his shoulder. “Always,” he said, covering Granby’s hand with his own and giving it a hard squeeze. “Assuming you can keep up, you being an invalid and all.”

Granby’s eyes flashed and he took off across the benches at a pace that did not quite reach undignified but could easily be mistaken for it. Little grinned at his back, waved once to Immortalis, then sprang after him.


End file.
